


New Year's Eve + Epi-pen

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:40:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: "Alright, year in review... best meal you had this year, and I won’t even be offended if you don’t say this one."New Year's Eve is one heck of a time to discover a new food allergy.
Relationships: Jack Dalton & Angus MacGyver (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 42
Kudos: 168





	New Year's Eve + Epi-pen

**Author's Note:**

> During my fluffy whumpy Christmas series, the lovely anguishmacgyver sent me this fantastic prompt: "I was thinking that a Christmas meal is the perfect opportunity for a weird food allergy to appear."
> 
> Well, Christmas didn't work, and I ended up missing NYE, but after a month-long dry spell, I finally wrote it! Hope it meets your expectations!
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Mac reaches around Jack and flips the switch, turning on the hood fan. Whirring to life, it pulls away the thick vapor swirling around them, that fills the room with a haze. He eyes the blinking timer. Turning to Jack he opens his mouth to speak. 

“I got it,” Jack interrupts Mac. He gives a short cough and waves the smoke away from his face. “Was doing fine until you showed up.”

“This is fine?” Mac asks with an eyebrow raised, gesturing to the mess surrounding them.

“No, this was fine. Then your kitchen-cursed self showed up and my sauce started burning.” Jack lifts the pan from the stovetop burner, stirring vigorously. “Go.” He gestures with the pot. “Go play outside with the other kids until dinner is ready."  


Mac shoots him a look of disbelief. “You can’t blame your inattention on me.”

The door from the deck opens and hurried footsteps draw closer. 

“Jack, do you need some help?” Bozer asks, fanning the light smoke as he moves around the counter and into the room, assessing as he goes. 

"Yeah, I need you to take Mac far away from here before the rest of our dinner is destroyed."

Mac gapes at him.

“Mac, you didn’t upgrade anything new in here, did you? You promised to tell me if you were going to tinker so I could make sure the fire extinguishers were up to date."

“Okay, let’s recount how many kitchen related explosions have actually been my fault? I have blown up one smoker. One.” Mac holds up his index finger, counting.

“Yeah, but you blew it up like four times, dude.”

“I didn’t have eyebrows for Christmas four years running.”

“All Bozer wants for Christmas is his two eyebrows,” Jack sings. 

“No, no, no,” Mac shakes his head. “I will take responsibility for the first smoker related explosion. That one’s on me, but I showed you how to use it, Boze. The second, and only other smoker related incident, sorry buddy, but that’s on you.” 

“What about the coffeemaker,” Jack teases with a smile.

“In my defense, the coffeemaker that they used as a timer for the bomb that caused my concussion, was the same one we had in the kitchen. That shouldn’t be held against me.” 

“He might have a point there,” Jack leans toward Bozer with a whisper, still stirring his sauce.  


“If he was trying to disarm it, why did he make it explode?” Bozer whispers back. 

“Oh, yeah,” Jack winces, leaning away from Bozer. He picks up a towel fanning the pot, trying to cool it. “Mac, he might have a point there.” 

“You were always after me to just blow any explosive I couldn’t disarm in like thirty seconds or less.”

Jack pauses, thoughtfully considering. “You never did though. Always made me sit around and wait all day. You're telling me that you finally listened when you were concussed?"  


Mac shrugs. "My judgment was altered because of the head injury so your idea sounded like a reasonable one at the time."

"Alright, hey now," Jack protests. He snaps the towel in Mac's direction. "Yeah, you better run, little boy," Jack shouts after him as Mac laughs, darting away from Jack's reach and out of the kitchen. 

The night is cool by LA standards, but a good portion of the rest country is buried under ice and snow. It’s still warm enough to eat out on the deck. The setting sun gilding the cityscape, a warm glow splashes against the house and pergola. Lights leftover from Christmas twinkle overhead. The picnic table loaded with mouthwatering dishes. 

Mac has the snow machine ready to dispense thick flakes at the stroke of midnight, and rigged a patio heater to keep them toasty until New Year’s as the sun dips lower on the horizon.

The team comes together, taking their seats around the table. It’s just the four of them for now. Desi and Leanna are on their way home from a mission and will join them, along with Matty after a debrief. 

It’s peaceful. Quiet. Exactly the type of New Year’s Eve desired by those who deal with explosions on a daily basis. 

For a minute there’s no conversation except for the passing of dishes. Once everyone has been served and the first bites are taken, Jack interrupts the quiet. 

“Alright, year in review time, you guys ready?”

Mac and Riley let out soft groans. 

“Did he make you do this when you were a kid?” 

“Every year,” Riley rolls her eyes, but her voice is soft with affection. “Every birthday and major holiday. And the minor holidays.”

Mac laughs. “Yeah, c’mon hoss,” he mimics Jack’s drawl. “Tell me about the best Groundhog’s Day you ever had.”

“Hey, now,” Jack protests the impersonation. 

“I think it’s a nice tradition. The opportunity to reflect on the last year,” Bozer defends.

“Thank you,” Jack extends a fist across the table which Bozer bumps with his own. “Somebody understands the importance of looking back and sharing family memories. I’m glad you’re finally on the team Bozer, so I’m not stuck with these two cynics.”

“I’ve been on the team for three years, Jack.”

“Huh? Really? I guess I can’t list that as one of the new things I’m thankful for this year then?” 

Mac snickers and disguises it with a cough at Bozer’s disgruntled expression, and the teasing glint hidden in Jack’s eyes. 

“Best meal you had this year, and I won’t even be offended if you don’t say this one,” Jack takes a dramatic bite of sweet and sour chicken, rolling his eyes upward in delight.  


“Really? You think you’re going to cook one meal and come in here and win that title?” Bozer asks.

Mac clears his throat. “Jack…” he warns.

“It ain’t the quantity, Bozer, it’s the quality,” Jack waggles his eyebrows and sticks out his tongue, provoking the argument that Mac is attempting to quell. 

Bozer’s fork clatters against his plate. “You still mad cause you lost our cutthroat kitchen challenge? Upset that Mac chose my chicken soup over yours?”

“Now, wait,” Mac interrupts, choking at Bozer’s words.

“That ain’t fair, you had nostalgia on your side. Riley preferred my chicken soup, did you Ri?”

“And you think that’s not nostalgia?” 

“Well, if you really want to know, the chicken soup from that bodega in Queens is not only my favorite, but maybe the best meal I had this year,” Riley announces. “You remember that place, right Mac? Those sandwiches were incredible.”

Mac coughs. “It might not just be the best meal from this year, but the best meal I’ve ever had.”

Two pairs of wounded brown eyes turn toward him. 

“Ever?” Bozer squeaks. “A corner store in Queens?”

“That’s low, man,” Jack says. “Even for you and your weird eating habits. You’re gonna choose a stranger’s sandwich over any one of Bozer’s taco Tuesday creations?” 

“Mac has a right to his choice,” Bozer says. 

“The chili lime pollo, with the sriracha crema? That was inspired, man. The sweet and the spicy,” Jack nearly groans in satisfaction at the memory.  


Mac takes a sip of water, hoping to relieve the dry feeling in his throat. A tickle he can't get rid of. He clears his throat lightly.  


Riley rolls her eyes at him with a smirk as Jack and Bozer extol the flavor combinations of the other’s recipes. "I would have loved to be around when you first brought Jack home to meet Bozer. What was that like?"  


"Kind of like this," Mac swallows hard against the tight feeling in his chest. He licks his lips, frowning at the tingling feeling. "But, uh, a lot worse."

“Speaking of inspired,” Bozer says, ignoring the conversation going on between the other half of the table. “This sauce is so tangy it’s making my mouth water between bites, it is so good.”

“But the love you put into your dishes, Bozer, you can taste that.”

Mac rubs the back of his neck, feeling flushed and uncomfortable. He frowns and takes another sip of water, coughing as he chokes on it. 

“Mac?” Jack stares at him, eyes narrowing, suddenly alert to his partner's growing discomfort. “You alright?”

He coughs again. His voice is hoarse and a wheeze rattles through his chest. 

“I don’t know,” Mac shakes his head, focusing on breathing. It comes in short, shallows gasps. He meets Jack’s eyes. “Something’s wrong.” 

Jack stands, his heart leaping into his throat at Mac’s admission, moving around the table, straddling the bench seat next to Mac. He places a hand on Mac’s shoulder. Through the material of his button-down, Mac is warm. A flush creeping up his neck.

“Tell me what’s going on, hoss,” Jack says, watching Mac’s face intently His hand slides down Mac’s arm, latching onto his wrist. Familiar fingers find his bounding pulse. 

Mac shakes his head, grasping at the table with his free hand as dizziness washes over him. “I-- I don’t know.”

Jack cups the back of Mac's neck, and Mac shivers at the cool touch. 

“Nice easy breaths, hoss. Come on,” Jack releases a slow and steady exhale, trying to get Mac to copy him.

"Mac?" Bozer leans closer, heart racing, watching Mac struggle for air. "Jack, his lips are turning blue."

“I can’t-- I can’t-- I can’t-- breathe.” Mac’s blue eyes are panic-filled as he looks at Jack. Fingers clawing at his neck as if trying to release a vice. 

Jack looks up at the worried eyes of the rest of his team. “Bozer, call 9-1-1.” 

Bozer is already pulling out his phone before Jack’s finished his order, brushing his hands nervously against his jeans as he waits for the connection with the dispatcher.

“Riley, call Phoenix Med, tell them what’s going on and to have our lab ready to run his blood and be prepared to take over his care.” 

Riley scrolls through her contacts, smashing the button to connect the call and holding it to her ear. “What do you think…”

Jack shakes his head. “Mac,” he snaps, commanding Mac’s attention and the younger man’s eyes fly open. “Symptoms.” 

“Chest-- is tight-- hurts,” Mac wheezes. He shakes his head. “Th--throat too. I can’t-- I can’t breathe.”

“What else, hoss?”

“I-- it’-- hot…”

"Ambulance is on the way. I'm gonna go meet them at the street," Bozer claps his hand on Mac's shoulder, squeezing gently. "It's okay, brother, we're getting help," he promises before reluctantly pulling himself away. 

Riley relays the symptoms Mac has listed then turns on the speakerphone, holding it out for Jack and Mac to hear.

“His pulse is around one-twenty. He’s sweaty and shaky. “

“When did this start?” The doctor asks. 

Jack frowns, wracking his brain. He gives a frustrated shrug. “He went from being fine to choking in like a minute.” 

“Mac, did anything bite you or sting you?” The Phoenix doctor asks.

“Don’t-- don’t think--” he rasps. 

“We were eating dinner. He coughed a few times but I thought the chicken was just spicy,” Riley says. Her voice lowers. “I was going to tease him about it.”

“Do you think he was poisoned?” Jack asks.

“The rate of onset sounds more like an anaphylactic reaction.”

“Anaphyl... but he doesn’t have an allergy,” Jack frowns, turning to look at Mac. “Do you have an allergy?”

Mac shrugs and shakes his head. 

“Elevate his legs,” the doctor instructs. “If he can breathe lying flat, get him down.”

Riley helps Mac swing his legs up onto the picnic table bench, while Jack shuffles him into a reclining position. After a moment, Mac’s eyes widen in panic, scrambling for Jack’s arm and raising himself up again. 

“Okay, okay, hoss,” Jack murmurs in Mac’s ear easing him upright again. “That’s a no go on the laying flat, doc.” 

“Any chance anyone there has an epi-pen?” The doctor asks.

Riley shakes her head helplessly.

“Wait, wait. I got a Phoenix stocked first aid kit in the Shelby,” Jack exclaims. “Riley…”

“Got it,” she exclaims running into the house.

“It’s in the trunk,” Jack yells after her.

He rests Mac against his chest. Each breath Mac fights for rattles against him. Wheezes and stridor harsh. Grating. Jack rubs his hands in soothing circles on Mac’s chest, trying to ease his distress. 

Mac’s hand grips Jack’s wrist, holding on tightly. 

“Just breathe, Mac. Keep breathing for me, kid,” Jack murmurs against the shell of Mac’s ear. 

Footsteps pounding through the house as Riley races back onto the deck.

“Got it! I’ve got it.” Slamming the kit on the table she rummages through it. “Here!” She rips open the package, quickly reading through the directions. She bites her lip and hesitates for a second, glancing up at Jack. 

“You got it, Riles,” he gives her a reassuring nod.

Riley pulls off the blue safety cap and places a trembling hand on the top of Mac’s thigh. She swings the injector towards his outer leg, pushing it firmly against his muscle. Mac flinches as the needle pricks his skin. 

“One… two… three…” she counts breathlessly to ten before pulling the injector away. The orange safety shield covers the needle. Her eyes don’t leave Mac’s face, watching desperately for any improvement.

In the distance, the whir of a siren grows closer as Mac relaxes against Jack’s chest.

* * *

The head of the bed is raised and Mac reclines against it. Softer than Jack’s chest, but not nearly as comforting. A hand-held nebulizer between his lips as he slowly breathes in the albuterol vapor, easing the spasms in his airways.

Jack reaches over and ruffles a hand through his hair. The fourth time he’s done this since Mac started the hour-long neb and can’t talk around the tube to protest the action.

But he can make his thoughts known with a raised eyebrow. 

“My next question for in my year in review game was going to be the most exciting meal. Thought I had that one in the bag, didn’t know you were gunning for that top spot,” Jack teases lightly, but his eyes are still filled with worry. 

Mac reaches over and pats his shoulder.

“Yeah, but runner-up still ain’t winning.” Jack shakes his head, eyes skirting across the blotchy reddened patches scattered across Mac’s pale skin. “Can’t believe I poisoned you.”

Mac grunts. 

“The doctor confirmed it was an allergy,” Riley says, perched on the armrest of Jack’s chair and leaning on his other shoulder, an arm wrapped around his back. “You didn’t poison him.”

“You weren’t the one who cooked whatever it was that tried to kill him,” Jack runs a hand through his previously messed fauxhawk. 

Mac grunts again.

“It could just as easily have been me, or the Chinese place we order from. Just lousy luck,” Bozer interprets Mac’s grunt, patting his leg reassuringly from his place on the foot of Mac’s bed. “Now we just have to figure out what it was that almost killed him.”

Jack taps the card sitting on the bedside table. “Got an appointment all set up with an immunologist next week. Until then everybody is carrying an epi-pen at all times. Bozer, you get two since you live with him."  


The vapor from the neb sputters and runs dry. Mac pulls the mouthpiece away.

"Should you be taking that off?" Jack catches Mac's hand.

"It's empty," his voice is deep and raspy. It sounds painful.

Jack winces. "Still..."

"Hey," Mac catches his arm, making sure Jack is looking at him. "I'm okay. They aren't even going to keep me."

"They said four hours of observation and then they'd decide what to do with ya," Jack corrects. "And you still sound like garbage, dude. Your voice is all hoarse."

"But I'm talking, so that means I'm breathing."

Jack's eyes drop.

"It's not your fault."

"You could have died, Mac. You could have died because I fed you something that convinced your body to try to kill you rather than digest it."

"That's not exactly how that..."

"And what if you hadn't been minutes away from help. What if we'd been in the middle of nowhere on a mission?"

"Do you do a lot of cooking on our missions?" Mac teases.

Jack shoots him an unamused look.

"We already carry epi-pens in our kits. The doctor will be able to figure out what I'm allergic to and I can avoid it. And this was not your fault." Mac cocks his head. "I mean, that's what you'd be telling me, right?"

Jack huffs, shaking his head. "You're sneaky, hoss."

"Learned from the best," Mac smirks, leaning back against the pillow. His fingers playing with the tegaderm dressing covering his IV. "Do you believe me?"

There's a pause as Jack lick his lips, debating how to answer this question. It's not that simple. He's promised, vowed to protect Mac and he can't quite release the guilt he feels that his kid is hurting, despite what he says. Despite that, if the roles were reversed, he would absolve Mac of any guilt. Fight to make Mac believe those words. Now, when he has the chance to lead by example, exonerating himself is a challenge.

"Not as strongly as I should," Jack admits. "But I'll work on it."

A smile graces Mac's lips. In this, as everything in his life, Jack still finds a way of putting Mac's needs ahead of his own. Recognizing that makes his already reddened eyes prickle.

Jack smiles back at him, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Alright, we're five hours away from the newest year," he rubs his hands together gleefully. "Weirdest thing that Mac blew up this year, go!"


End file.
